Felicity Cloake

OK, so I lied. One more gratuitous picture of piggy wiggies to whet the appetite for the porcine feast which proved such a joyous conclusion to Pig Day (see previous post for more on the live aspect of things).

First up was Gergely’s Hungarian take on … pig brains. Sauteed with onions, and served on toast with a sprinkling of paprika (of course) they reminded me of a creamier, yet more unctuous version of marrow. Sadly the magnificent pork pie wasn’t yet set…

but we did break out some of the chorizo prepared by the Sausage Experts

and, under Rachel’s direction, fried it in copious amounts of olive oil, then served it with incredible brown bread and a drizzle of honey 

and then there were the pork chops, whose two marinades escape me

and the barbecue ribs…

and the lung paprikash (as usual, with offal, I found myself thinking – this is fine, but really, why would you, when there’s stuff like this on offer…)

to say nothing of the magnificent trotter paella, which, coming at the tail end of such a spread, received rather less love than it deserved. I’d like to think the hardy overnighters enjoyed it for breakfast.

Oh yeah, and there’s the small matter of the eyeball. The butchers kindly left both Miss Pig’s blue sparklers staring out at the assembled company of carnivores, and the temptation was too much for Ben Norum, of Blue Tomato fame. Ignoring professional advice about the little buggers needing lengthy soaking, he whipped up a hasty batter, and deep fried them both. There weren’t many takers for tempura eyeballs. Except Ben, of course.

Then Alex reminded me of the tagline on my Guardian Word of Mouth profile: ‘she likes to think she’d try any food once, but then no one’s offered her an eyeball yet.’ Damned by my own pen – and duty bound by stubborn, mule-like pride to swallow the second snack of Satan.

you can tell yourself that’s a blue cheese arancini all you want, but obviously it’s just a pupil. And if you think that’s disgusting, imagine eating it.

Not my finest hour. But, having taken one for all, I can say with a good deal of authority, if you’re ever offered an eyeball, don’t bother. Just don’t. And if you insist, don’t, whatever you do, add salt.

Huge, and belated, thanks to Rachel, Donald, and everyone at Dingley Dell: next stop mutton Monday?